Page 183 of A Thief Among Fae

He meets my gaze, regret etched into his grimace. “I can’t abandon my people.”

No. My stomach drops, and my next breath is stuttered as horror churns within me. This can’t be happening. I want the fae to be free, almost more than anything—almost as much as I want him.

“Don’t abandon me,” I beg him. I’ll kneel or clasp my hands, anything to change his mind. I know it’s the most selfish thing I could ask of him, but there has to be another way.

Desmond startles, the whites of his eyes flaring.

“You said words should speak louder than violence. Queen Orla is right there. What if I try to convince her?” I squeeze him, desperately hoping it might work. When I freed him from his cell, I thought I wouldn’t lose him again. I thought we were free from that nightmare.

His surprise gives way to sorrow. “We both know you can’t, Cynthia. No one can. Deitra and I have already tried.”

“Then promise me that you’ll escape. You won’t let them catch you,” I whisper. If he has to do this, if there’s no other way, then he can at least vow that he’ll survive it. “When the dust settles, you can come with me. We’ll explore the continent together, even if we have to hide who we are. That’s your dream, isn’t it? I just got you back and the thought of losing you again⁠—”

“What kind of king would Eldon be if he let his mother’s murderer go?” Desmond’s lip curls, but he continues. “The terms he set were clear that he’d need someone to punish.”

“That person doesn’t have to be you,” I beg, even though I know Desmond would never accept anything else. “Please⁠—”

He cups my cheek, surprising me. He leans toward me until we’re so close that his curls brush against my forehead. “Don’t say it.” The words are a low plea. “Or you’ll have broken me just as you promised, body and soul.”

As I remember my own words, I inhale a tight breath. When we first sparred, I told him there were plenty of ways to break a male. I never meant for it to be like this.

I memorize the way his dark hair shines gold in the light. I map the calluses that caress my jaw, the rhythm of the scar on his chin. The tension between us is a precipice between pain and desire, sanity and madness.

I swallow, struggling to keep my voice even. “Please, Desmond. Explore the world with me.”

The war inside of him is visceral, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as he holds my gaze. My heart beats so wildly that I’m afraid to know what he’ll say next.

He kisses me.

Lightning coils through me as the softness of his lips gives way to a demanding heat, as if he can’t hold himself back. His tongue tastes and takes as he holds me against him.

I moan into him, gripping his doublet to pull him closer. He kisses me like he needs me more than air. The world could burn around us, and he still wouldn’t let me go.

This feels like fate—a moment that I’ve always wanted, even before I knew it could exist. The yearning between us pulls stronger now than the vow ever did. I never want to let him go. I’ll die if I do.

Dancers swirl around us, but we still kiss, even as the music dims and blossoms into another waltz. Even as the crowd murmurs, perilous attention surrounding us.

Then Desmond pulls away. He looks at me with what I dare to think is love, as though I’m his entire world.

I already miss his lips. My cheeks burn, and my chest is tight, but I hold his gaze. “Was that kiss your answer?”

His silence is as sharp as a dagger to the throat. The light in his hazel eyes dims like dusk kissing the earth.

“It was goodbye,” he says, his voice cracking.

I let go of him. My heart wrenches as I step away, as if distance might lessen the pain clawing through my body. My ears ring, drowning out the music. Something within me screams, then shatters until I’m gasping for air. He’s still going through with it. After everything, he’s going to sacrifice himself. He’s going to⁠—

My stomach twists so tightly that tears sting my eyes. They seep underneath my mask, and I wish I could throw the thing off and cry until my voice breaks. I turn away, forcing myself to breathe, but my lungs are too tight, the dress suddenly a vise squeezing my ribs.

It would hurt too much to look at Desmond, so I stare out at the ballroom. Prince Ronan dances with his partner, the other guests giving them a wide berth. My body trembles as I watch them, desperate to distract myself from Desmond. He’s still waiting for my reply.

Ronan’s partner is shorter than I am, but a height that’s too familiar. A glittery, golden sheen winds up the bodice of her peony-pink gown, and delicately wrinkled layers fall like petals from her waist. Her blond hair is tied into an elegant bun with a matching ribbon, and as she turns, I stare at her masked face.

Metal fashioned to resemble lace frames her delicate nose and dark brown eyes. My stomach hollows, but the look Ronan gives her is what damns it all.

It’s just how he looked at her from the carriage on her birthday. Yet the dark veins in her neck are gone, as though that day in the barrow has been erased from time.

“I need to go,” I murmur. I’m so hollow inside, as if someone’s carved out every bone from my body.